


contain the urge

by davidelizabeth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Discussions of attempted assassination, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fluff and Angst, Implied Verdant Wind Route, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Trauma, Ultra Rarepair Big Bang (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), discussions of loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidelizabeth/pseuds/davidelizabeth
Summary: "My name is Ferdinand Von Aegir, disgraced and former lord of the Aegir estate and territory. I have fled my captors and am willing to trade whatever information I can give for asylum and safety within the Alliance. I formally request an audience with whoever may be available to discuss my loyalties." He says, trying to piece together in his scattered brain what the formal request was meant to sound like. He'd forgotten some vital part, but he couldn't remember which.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	contain the urge

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is apart of the ultrararepair bigbang! 
> 
> my partner was [@3ratmoon](https://twitter.com/3RatMoon1)

The temperature has begun dropping, as the cold winter air descends from the mountains. The cold sets into the bones of those unprepared, and surprises those lost to their thoughts. Across the continent, families and soldiers prepare for the frosty and possible fatal winter that is destined to come. Those in new places find themselves underprepared or overprepared.

Those overprepared rejoice, while those who did not prepare well enough mourn. The harsh reality that winter will no doubt take those with weaker dispositions. The land weeps blood, as the fighting does not cease. Bodies frozen to the ground cemented in place by the soul-sucking cold.

Ferdinand has not prepared. He is cold, frozen to the bone, but determined to make it to the river that separates the Alliance from the Empire. His clothes torn and bloody, offering him no protection from the elements or from the scouts sent to locate his corpse in the bitter cold of the fresh winter. Weak with hunger, pain, and fresh from a fight, Ferdinand does not have much left within him to live.

It is a painful thought that one more struggle, either for his life or for his freedom, would be the end of him, intended or not. It had taken him months, just shy a year, to plot and execute his escape from the prison that had been built and fortified to hold him and his ideals. To contain what he represented to his people, and the rebellion and questioning he would inspire if his people knew he had defected against the Empire.

Freedom for all, food for all, and the choice to decide whether to take up arms in the name of whatever great lord was swinging his sword, word, and might around—straightforward ideas when broken down into it. But far too idealistic for a war-torn empire, one splitting from its seams as noble children and civilians alike fled for their lives. For the freedom of thought and questions against motives and orders could spell the end for the ever-encroaching war.

He had not been the only one to oppose Edelgard, nor was he the only one to face her wrath at their perceived betrayal. He remembered the desperate and painfully quiet apology that had fallen out of Petra's lips as the dagger had sunk deep into the meat of his back during his last formal meeting as Edelgard left hand. He had been fighting against her ideals and her orders for the people under her command. Ferdinand despised the war, the senseless violence, and the loss of life that followed each order to march into battle, no matter the consequences.

The fate of those of other deserters was a mystery. Hopefully, he would be able to find out if they had died in their escape before his own before he met with the Goddess for the final time. The soft press of Linhardt's hands against his wounds one last time, before his and Caspar's final goodbye stayed with him. A kindness against all hope that had put them both in terrible danger, possibly jeopardising their own escape, all of the sake of assisting his own.

Caught up in his own head, the night dragged on, his gait slowing to a crawl as the Airmid river finally came into his line of sight. If he was less injured, he might have burst into tears at the sight of freedom so close to his grasp. The bridge was small and obviously guarded as he remained within the last line of trees. It may not have been a tremendous and giant bridge like the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but it was a crossable bridge, nonetheless. It needed to be defended against rogues, thieves, and scouts looking to get a leg up in their position and guarded to protect any civilians fleeing from the war-torn lands that most places seemed to be turning into as of late.

He had chosen this bridge for a reason, it was small, quiet, and any gossip from his crossing would be delayed by days. It would take time for it to travel to the more giant camps on the Alliance side of the river, and a handful of days after that for whatever spies still remained in the Alliance to get the word back to the capital. He would be as safe as he could be and hopefully wouldn't draw any attention to wherever Linhardt and Caspar have made it to.

With a deep breath, pain echoing and sliding like a dull and rusted dagger throughout his body, he summoned up all the courage he had left in case these would be his final moments, he pulled his hood down as far as it would go and stepped towards the bridge like a man going to his execution. The first few steps went ignored, but the closer he got to the start of the bridge, the more he waited to be spotted.

It didn't take long, and the guards were quick to stand to attention as he approaches slowly, due to his pronounced limp. It took a silent and tense few minutes for him to make it to the guards, were they stood to attention, ready and waiting for anything the enemy would, or could throw at them.

With a sharp pain in his left thigh as it gives out after days of strained use and mistreatment, Ferdinand folds to the ground, agitating the wound on his left hip. A sharp and dangerous hiss escapes his mouth, as the pain knocks more out of him than expected. The guards do not move, seemingly willing to wait for him to state his case, and reason for trying to cross the border during the pitch of the night. Their hands lay on their scabbards as they wait. Ready to strike whenever the need would arise.

With a shaky hand, Ferdinand draws his hand towards his head and pulls back his hood. Assured now that the guards would not only cut him down where he stood instead of asking questions or detaining him. The lethal force would not have surprised him at this point, he had faced everything a younger version of himself would think was despicable and beneath a man of his station and the men under his charge.

"My name is Ferdinand Von Aegir, disgraced and former lord of the Aegir estate and territory. I have fled my captors and am willing to trade whatever information I can give for asylum and safety within the Alliance. I formally request an audience with whoever may be available to discuss my loyalties." He says, trying to piece together in his scattered brain what the formal request was meant to sound like. He'd forgotten some vital part, but he couldn't remember which.

The guard's pause, looking at each other. They move towards him, and more gently then he would've expected brought him back to the Alliance side of the bridge, where they settle him in the small camp just a hundred paces from the bridge, hidden in a grove of trees.

There are ten tents of varying sizes, and he is settled in one obviously fitted out for captives, from the shackles staked into the ground, to the rough and lumpy cot fixed to the left of the stake. For the next week, he is told nothing. He is fed, his wounds tended to, and allowed to bathe. A sight better than what he was given under the stamp of his official sentence and punishment handed to him by Edelgard herself.

The mage on hand at the camp is a wonderful man who takes his time and doesn't hurt him more than necessary. The guard settled at the front of his tent. He didn't visit Ferdinand often, aside from asking him about his wellbeing, and talking to the mage about his state.

The food they give him is simple, and the portions begin small after he throws the first two meals up. Still, it warms his entire body and makes him feel so much better, even without the mage's bright and cold healing permeating throughout his body like a soothing balm.

He slowly began to recover, when finally, he is told about what's going to happen to him. His request had slowly been making its way through the official channels, one commander had told him, and had been considered by as many hands that could. It had been granted, and Ferdinand was to be shipped off to the capital, under lock and guard, to meet with the leader of the Alliance or one of his representatives.

The trip was mostly without issue, aside from accidentally managing to tear open the wound on his side again, which was quickly tended to. A quick, fast pace had been set. He hoped that they were trying to get him as far away from the border as they could, hopefully, to dissuade an attack meant to recover him, before he could disclose the secrets he had safely guarded in his chest.

Arriving was a quiet and hushed affair, as he was brought to a small servant's room, and settled with a brisk hand, given the run of the small space, and its adjoining washroom. He wasn't shackled, nor was he chained, but instead given a small comfortable chair and a handful of novels to entertain himself, as his presence was kept as quiet as possible. Only those who needed to know he was alive, or there, knew about him.

Two days of relative solitude, aside from a different mage, a pair of servants tasked with bringing him his meals. The two guards stationed for his protection as he recovered, and a decision was made on if he would be allowed to remain. The faint scent of roses drifted in from the small window, and he knew that he was within the Gloucester estate. The smell of Lorenz' roses had always been a breathtaking one, and Ferdinand knew he would never forget it, not within life or death.

Those two days pass very quickly, as he is fed three meals each day. Each meal is warm, filling, and neither stale nor foul with rot and mould. His stomach had protested the meals, as they seemed too rich after the blander food back in the first camp. Still, the steady, richer food had finally started settling properly in his stomach. He had yet been able to rest peacefully, knowing the guards at the door were both to keep him in, and keep others out.

His body ached every day, and every night, like the numbness and need to escape finally ebbed away. The slightest of movements would send an aching and persistent pain down his left leg. The healer mage had told him that it was mostly phantom pain, as the mages had done all they could to heal both the internal and surface damage. But even the worst soldier knew that battle-trained faith magic was no replacement for weeks of rest, recuperation, and a specially trained healer. 

So, he began to rest and recuperate and had started to regain full motion. However, the phantom pain was still present and would be for the foreseeable months. Faith magic didn't affect the brain, and thus the brain still thought the world was falling apart.

The room was quiet but peaceful. The small window had been sealed shut by something, but it still allowed fresh air, and the musical sounds of the courtyard to filter in. Ferdinand spent his hours gazing out the window and admiring how untouched and peaceful the estate still was, regardless of the war raging on like an inferno. It all seemed too relaxed, and part of him still waited for it all to come crashing down in a blaze of fire.

Lorenz, in all his glory, descended upon the small room with a look in his eye that screamed worried as his gaze settled on the worn form of Ferdinand. He was folded up in the chair next to the window, gazing onto the grounds as the world continued to spin. Hilda and Ignatz followed closely behind Lorenz, Hilda rolling her eyes as she seemed slightly out of breath. With four people in the room, it seemed much smaller and more crowded than it ever had before.

Ferdinand, hesitant, does not say a word, and kept his eyes stiffly towards the window, waiting for something that never does come. He had not seen Lorenz, nor anyone else from their schoolyard days, in so long. The thought of finally being able to lay his eyes on someone who had known him inside and out, who had agreed with his principles and his ambitions over all else, overwhelmed him, as it truly made the last section of his life real. When it became real, it would be inescapable no matter what happens.

A light touch on his shoulder from Lorenz soft hand, caused him to flinch and brought him back to reality. He knew that trying to run from what had happened would only doom him to an eternity of strife and escapism. He turned his head slowly before locking eyes with Lorenz. The other man looked well, apart from the slight bags under his eyes, and the worry lines taking residence on his face.

Would Lorenz forsake him? Too weak to fight for what they had so strongly believed in during their school years. The thought of finally settling his eye's on Claude was even worse. The man who had held his heart whether he had known it or not. Their soft touches and childish declarations of love had seen him through the worst of what he had faced. For even the thought of being able to see Claude again had set his heart and his will aflame enough to give him the strength to work through the pain, he had come to know like an old friend.

"Well, my friend, you've looked a lot better," Lorenz said with a sad smile, folding into the second chair settled by the window. Ignatz followed closely behind, settling behind Lorenz' chair, as Hilda stayed at the door, watching the exchange with a sharp eye.

"I've felt worse, and I'm sure I've looked worse. You, however, look just as radiant and defiant as I remember you being," Ferdinand finally said, pulling his eyes away from the window to meet Lorenz' gaze. The room was quiet, the atmosphere light with a heady undertone of stress and insecurity. No one knew how to move forward. The forced separation caused by the war had taken its toll, on those captured and those fighting the same.

It took a minute before Hilda huffed and rolled her eyes, "Nothing can stop you, can it Ferdinand? Always a sharp tongue with a compliment ready to roll off the end of it." Her words broke the tension of the room.

"You'd be surprised. Nothing's been able to stop me yet, just ask Edelgard and her… prestigious prison guards," Ferdinand said in reply, as his eyes drifted over towards her.

Lorenz' eyes narrowed, "Yes, that despicable bastard. I think I'd have a few less than kind words for her and her ilk. I'm sure you'd have nothing but the same."

"For Edelgard and Hubert, yes. The others are just trying to save their lives and the lives of those they love. They tried their best, but sadly their best did not match Edelgard and Hubert's own. Some have already run, like Caspar and Linhardt. Others are prisoners of their situations like Dorothea and Petra. They can't help their situations, and they tried to help the best they could." He said, knowing that it was true.

Lorenz softened, as Ignatz face screwed up. "Yes, we cannot help where we are born, and those we are sworn to protect from the world. It cannot be helped, though I wish our situations were different."

They slip into small talk for a while, avoiding the severe topic all four of them know are going to be on the table shortly with Ferdinand's prison break and subsequent mad break for the border, and what it will mean for the Alliance's position within the war effort.

As they talk, the world seems to drift back into place. Things had been so dire for so long that the act of having a peaceful and welcome conversation with those he knew and trusted was an overwhelming feeling.

Lorenz, of course, eventually had to break the moment. "I haven't just come for pleasure, and to see you safe and sound. Claude will finally be arriving in Gloucester tonight, and your presence will be required tomorrow morning. He's going to be getting a feel for your loyalty. What information you truly know, and how outdated it is," he says, pausing to take a breath, as he spews out the information Ferdinand needs to know at a rapid and worrying pace.

"If the information is good, and you can give us even the smallest leg up in this Goddess forsaken war, you'll be the godsend we needed. If your information is out of date, you'll still be protected, but less important in the grand scheme of things. The table might be more easily swayed to trade you back to Edelgard in exchange for other war prisoners. I've been against this notion as much as possible, but the other lords can see the merit in it." Lorenz explains. Hilda and Ignatz both wincing at the look on his face. It's a sombre look. Ferdinand knows the reality of his situation and how fragile it is amongst the backdrop of the raging war.

"I understand. There is no true safety to be found for anyone, let alone a disgraced and fleeing lord with no real connections or a reason to be trusted. Year old friendships are not a reason for trust. I will do my utmost to provide the information I know in a manner that befits someone in my position." Ferdinand says, giving Lorenz a small, knowing smile.

It all comes down to Claude, and the information he can give.

After their conversation wraps up, the morning seems to come quickly.

The dawn comes with the bird song, and the hustle and bustle just outside of his room, as servants rush to and fro preparing for the day. The sound is grounding and calming, bringing him out of the nightmare slowly and surely. It was something he had come to rely on, these past few days, and before that, the sounds of the camp he was in.

With a deep breath, the anxiety of his meeting with Claude filters back in, and his skin is set on edge. Claude, who's warm and sturdy hands he remembers in his hair and on his body, as they fell together in new and beautiful ways during the months they had together.

Would the Claude he was about to face, be the same that encouraged him to grow and relax? Or would he be unrecognisable? Would Ferdinand himself be unrecognisable? The questions bounced back and forth within his head. It wasn't long before Ignatz had come to collect him, to take him to the meeting. They didn't speak, simply walked side by side. When they arrived, Hilda was already there, leaning against the door. Ignatz opened the door for him, and whispered a quiet and straightforward good luck, before taking his post at the other side of the door with Hilda.

Walking into the room, Ferdinand laid his eyes on Claude for the first time since the beginning of the war. The man is as handsome as ever, with a dash of facial hair growing in, and a sturdy posture. He had finally begun to fill out, looking as healthy and commanding as ever.

Claude's eyes drifted up to meet his stare, and Ferdinand was gestured to take a seat in the chair across from him. The room was cosy, with a small desk and a seating area to the left of it.

Ferdinand broke the eye contact momentarily, as he sat down, and the room stayed quiet for several seconds.

"Ferdinand, it's been a while, and while I'm sorry it couldn't be on better terms, I'm glad you're here," Claude says, resting his hands on his lap, and leaning back slightly, his posture becoming severe for a second, "I need to know if your loyalties lie with the Alliance, of if they still lie with the Empire, for all the harm and foul they've caused you."

It was a fair question, Ferdinand knew this. But hearing it still drove a hot poker into his heart. His home had been ripped from his grasp, and his loyalties could no longer lie with his supposed betters whose job was to guide their Empire into prosperity.

He knew the answer immediately, "My loyalties are yours to be won, but they do not lie with the people who butchered any who may shelter me or mine, and who slaughtered those who opposed my arrest, fought for my place, or held my ideals. I will tell you what I know, and what I can assume to be the truth from what I know. In exchange, I hope to be protected from those who seek to return me to my cage."

"Well then, I suppose it's up to me to win your loyalty. You will be kept safe, to the best of our abilities. We will do all we can to protect you." Claude smiles, and for a second, Ferdinand can imagine that the war never started, and they were seated together in one of their rooms, talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

They talk further, for hours. Dredging up everything Ferdinand remembers, and what he knows of the internals of Edelgard's forces. He tells Claude of Caspar and Linhardt's great escape, and how they had helped him get out the best they could, before fleeing in the direction of Caspar's estate to begin stealing all they could.

He tells him about Hubert's experiments, and their bizarre, strange, and horrifying outcomes. Dorothea and Petra's situations are explained in as much detail as he can manage. They aren't exactly innocent, but either has the choice of going against her orders, under fear of retribution. Hours are spent discussing strategies and who is assigned where, no matter how much it may have changed.

At lunch, a spread is brought in for them both. However, Ferdinand is careful to only take from plates, he has seen Claude eat him. Claude frowns at him knowingly. He begins to take from every dish at the small table, to set Ferdinand at ease the best he can. It made Ferdinand sick; just how much he had changed because of the experiences and trauma, he had faced. Unable to take food from strangers to the point of having to ask the servants who brought him his meals to take a part of it, and to sip at the liquids he was being given.

They continue. It doesn't stop until Ferdinand's voice is hoarse, and Claude's wrist is cramped from his notetaking. Pages and pages of notes lay scattered across the small table in front of them, as Claude begins to organise them in some haphazard way that seems to make sense to him.

Claude, as he stands to leave, places his forehead against Ferdinand's, and his palm against his cheek. Ferdinand doesn't flinch, for the first time in a while, as they stare into each other's eyes, each trying to find something they can't bring themselves to comprehend, "You've done the Alliance a great service, and you've against all the odds, come back into my life. I will not forget this, and I did not forget you," Claude says, pulling away from Ferdinand, and walking towards the door, notes in hand.

Ferdinand sits, almost frozen, as he slowly brings his hand up to his cheek and looks at the door Claude had just closed behind him. The words echoed throughout his mind, as he thought back on them and just what they meant. Were there still feelings there, after so long? Had Claude thought about him, as much as he had thought about Claude.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Hilda enter the room, nor did he see as she signed, and mumbled to herself, "He's still got it I guess, what a guy."

The days after that meeting passed in a daze. Ferdinand was moved from the servant's quarters to a small wing of the estate connected to the one Lorenz and Ferdinand stayed and worked in the most often. He was assigned a small handful of guards, and a lot of the faces recognisable. Ignatz and Hilda cycled in and out of his guard rotation, as well as Leonie and Raphael. Each treating him like they did back during their time at the academy.

With each day, he began to settle, taking it slowly. The nightmares didn't cease, but Ferdinand had already assumed that they most likely never would. The healer still came to visit him and told him the same. The wound in his side had finally healed fully. The scar tissue was unsightly and often hurt, and the one in his left thigh had caused him to limp slightly.

He was grateful for the freedom he was given. Able to go move around the wing as much as he pleased, as well as the garden's and the library, as long as his escort was with him, and he wasn't needed elsewhere.

Lorenz and Claude had once again become a staple of his life. Each dancing in and out of it with a grace that could only be attributed to them. Lorenz confided in him the struggled he had faced, and how he was still struggling for power against his father. Lorenz had almost gone as far as to wish the old man dead because at least then Lorenz would be able to lead the way he thought it should be done.

Claude was a different story. He often appeared during meals, tasting, and sharing them with Ferdinand. They talked about anything they could, testing the waters to see what had changed, and what was still the same. They danced around each other, tiptoeing the lines the war had drawn between them. The line grew more and more muddled as they once again, grew together in new ways they hadn't before.

They slowly moved from meetings whenever they could, to letters ferried by their guards. Notes filled with sweet nothings, and lovely everything's. They didn't need to be together all the time, but the moments they could steal in between Claude's forever shifting schedule and duties. The letters made each moment more and more bittersweet, as they parted time and time again. Ferdinand didn't know what they were doing, and where their relationship was going, but it filled that space in his heart Claude had left all that time ago.

Letters spiralled from recounts of their days, to what they wished had happened instead of the war, to where they thought their missing friends were now. Ferdinand mused on the idea that Linhardt and Caspar had made it, and were somewhere together, hidden and thriving. That Dorothea and Petra were safe, and not regretting every move, they made. Claude mused on how the war had changed his friends, and how the landscape in their future seemed to always be changing.

As the months passed, the letters grew more and more romantic, as they finally took that step. They never talked about the reality of their relationship, but they became more and more comfortable with each other.

Each time Hilda picked up his letters, she smirked and made childish kissing noises. Each time without pause, Ferdinand was teased and poked at, and it made him laugh each time. Ignatz always brought him his letters with a blush and a delicate hand. Setting them down on his small desk with careful and purposeful reverence.

Hilda, Ignatz, and Ferdinand grew closer on the days they sat together when they were in his guard rotation, and not by Lorenz' or Claude's sides. Hilda helped bring his hair back from the horrible state it was in and did it up in different styles with new clips and new accessories each time. Ignatz discussed art and books with him whenever they could. Bringing paintings to decorate his room with a bright pop of colour or a striking scene he had painted himself.

The most significant change to this was the day Hilda let it slip that there had been attempts on his life. It had been an accident on her part, but it awoke something he hadn't felt in a while.

Anger.

He'd asked to be taken to Claude, and Hilda, realising her mistake, was quick to agree, and lead him throughout the halls at a brisk, almost frantic pace. Hilda burst through the door of Claude's office, throwing out a quick sorry, before turning around and leaving the room.

Ferdinand laid his eyes on Claude, and narrowed them, "Why was I not informed about the attempts on my life?"

"We didn't want to add more stress on to your plate. I know we should've told you, but you were finally beginning to settle again, and they never got further than the gardens." Claude said, standing up from his desk, before rubbing his hands through his hair.

Ferdinand was still angry, it still bubbled and seethed between his skin, but he understood to an extent. "But didn't I deserve to know? It's my life, and what if they'd gotten closer? To the wing, or the sitting room, or my bedroom. Would you have told me then?" He asked, walking towards Claude.

"Of course, you deserved to know! It was a stupid mistake, and I realise now that not telling you to hurt you more than it helped. I apologise, it was my mistake, and I'll do anything I can to make it right." Claude said, reaching out to grip Ferdinand's hands within his own.

"I'm still angry, and I don't know how long it'll take me to forgive you. But you won my loyalties long ago, surely now you can win my forgiveness," he said, squeezing Claude's hands with a small smile.

They looked at each other, "If your loyalty is won, then I'll put all my effort into your forgiveness. All information regarding you will be on your desk as soon as it happens. If anything happens, I think you need to know, it'll be on your desk." Claude promises, bringing their joined hands up in between their chests.

The moment continued between them before their hands pulled apart, and Claude's hands moved carefully to Ferdinand's face. Everything paused as Ferdinand's face was cradled, and Ferdinand leaned in towards Claude. They came together in a kiss. The first kiss they'd shared since the day before the war started. It brought Ferdinand back, to that sleepless night, filled with declarations of love, and the smooth slide of skin on skin as they'd shared their bodies.

Pulling apart, they rested their foreheads together, as they each whispered words of love to the other. Cradled together in the warm glow of the feelings in Ferdinand's chest, and the warmth of the fire of Claude's office. 

**Author's Note:**

> again, a big thanks to my collab partner [@3ratmoon](https://twitter.com/3RatMoon1)!!!!!
> 
> they were wonderful to work with, and their art is breathtaking wonderful!!!
> 
> my twitter [@rymewji](https://twitter.com/rymewji)


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